To the Dark Lord
by beartes
Summary: Regulus is ready to face his death. He just has one detail to finish: write the letter to go with the false pendant. Who knew writing to the Dark Lord is so difficult?


**Chapter 1: Chapter 1**

Regulus glares at the blank parchment. He is exhausted and has lost all the little patience he has left a long time ago. Yet, here he is, staring at a stupid piece of parchment that refuses to write itself. He takes the quill and tries again

 _Dear_

Stop. Stare. Scowl.

Dear indeed.

He promptly crosses the word out. He is _not_ going to address The Dark Lo- Voldemort as Dear. He has some pride left.

He scoffes, looking at the ceiling for some sort of inspiration. It cann't be that difficult, could it?

Except it is. Because he's writing a letter. To Voldemort. That says "screw you" basically. What is he supposed to say?

 _Voldypants,_

 _I got your pretty necklace. I was thinking about giving it a thorough cleansing. With fyendfire- merlin knows the diseases your half-blood soul hipocrissy has given it. Maybe after it I'll give it to the goblins- had more rights over it than you, either way_

 _Looking forward your destruction_

 _Fuck you,_

 _R.A.B_

 _PS: It seems that you should protect your things a little better. I got your Horrocrux, yes, but who got your nose?_

While the lenght fits, Regulus doesn't think it as appropiate. So he crumbles the paper, throws it and stands up to get it.

It is just too good to throw away. And he didn't even went all out

(And if his thoughts are centered in how proud Sirius may be after that, with all the childish false hope it entails, well-

Nobody has to know about that.)

Lord Voldemort. He really did admired the man -but how could he not? He is powerful, as he boasts constantly. He has the same ideals he was raised to believe in, he promised a change

In his brief experience, there's nothing as dangerous as a promise of change. It makes people united, self-righteous and anxious to take part in it. Reckless of the meaning or consequences of their actions – the perfect pawns to toy with.

And he'd never know he had been so flat-out brainwashed. But-

He noticed. For all his power Voldemort is carelessly arrogant, ignorant to the most basics of knowledge of magic- that of course, Regulus has. Hell, even a bloody Weasley knows better- and so, he subestimates one of the most magical creatures of all.

A house-elf.

(Really, had he not read? Is Regulus the only one a little bit curious about elves? Well, by his observations, he is at least the only one to be remotely kind to one.)

So, in the most obvious mistake, he tells Kreacher all about himself, his plans and how utterly stupid everyone is.

Says the one who's alluding to his own inmortality all the freaking time to his own followers. The sadistic bastard.

He isn't even a pureblood. Gaunt or not. Heir of Slytherin? Regulus is pretty damn sure that the Blacks, Lestrange, Nott, Bones, Longbottom, Potters, Prewett and Malfoys are heirs too. Just for saying a few. Hell, if you really looked at it he is probably heir of Hufflepuff and Gryffindor too (Something went wrong with Ravenclaw. Apparently, she only had one daughter that fucked up before continuing the line but whatever) The Gaunts are just that one kind of inbreeding that produces more squibs than anything, all because of the parseltongue.

It is not that big of a deal. Like a metamorphmagus (In fact, he read somewhere Helga was one. That's the thing with Hufflepuffs, nobody brags enough) it just something that tends to skip a couple of generations.

Except if you marry your sister, that is.

So now, Regulus knows enough about Voldemort that he wishes his mother had a horrible accident of common sense.

But screw that.

 _Dear Tim,_

 _Or was it Tom? Forgive me, I never was good with muggle names. Well, nobody cares anyway, not even you, since your daddy and mommy issues made you develop a diva personality with a divided soul (Talking about that, got one piece and I plan to destroy it. If your ear dissapears I won't take the blame though. It clearly went to accompany your nose. Wish it were your mouth, though) and a pompous names as Lord Voldemort. Mr Riddle, I must inform you that name is a ridicolous allusion to your paralyzing fear of death, but that is the way of life. If a worm can deal with it, so can you. Get over yourself before you steal Gryffindor. He will not take that kindly._

 _On another note, stop taking notes of your demented mother book. Amortentia is not the way to gain followers. Even if your find Bellatrix obsession somewhat endearing._

 _Trip and die, for real._

 _R.A.B_

That was...

That went over his head. Just a little bit.

Bah, who cares? He has just a few hours to live, anyway. He should make this fun. And then make the serious one. He doesn't want to be obvious, the initials are clue enough. He fears what would become of his family if He-Who-Must-Be-Renamed (he really can't stop with the puns) realize what he has done.

 _To Voldemort,_

 _I hope you die in a painful, humiliating way_

 _Fuck you._

 _R.A.B_

 _PS: DEATH- eater? Vol de mort? Really!? Well, I hope your death flight is entertaining without an horrocrux, you obvious arrogant bastard._

Direct. Nice.

 _Hiya!_

 _I got your horro-thingie. Did you know it got a soul on it? Like maaaaaan, that's heavy. But kind of lame, too. The voices told me it's called a pendant. HA!_

 _Like pffft, what's next? A bloody tiara? What kind of pussy puts his soul in there? What kind of pussy divides his soul, anyway? Like, you have half a soul left in your body. How that works? You get less espiritual, stop seeing ghost or something? I'm pretty sure you lose magic. Ha! Sucks to be such an idiot! Anyway, I heard you have to, like kill someone to do it._

 _That's not okay, man. That's baaaaaad. Like wrong bad, y'know? For the meanies. Baddies._

 _Are you a baddie, Voldy?_

 _R.A.B (A.k.a: the awesome dude)_

 _Ps: Man, sorry but gotta destroy your soul. Wow! That sounded badass, don'cha think? Totally cool. You oughta call me Soul crusher or something._

...

Well, nobody could relate him to that. (Are you a baddie, Voldy? Are you?)

 _Dear PMS Lord,_

 _You are just like a deranged teenaged girl. Only instead of getting periods each month, like every self-respecting woman or werewolf, you are always that way, period. I swear, if there was ever a female werewolf whose periods never were near the full moon she'll find you an unsufferable PMSing bitch._

 _Go to bloody therapy and stop with this horrocrux nonsense,_

 _R.A.B_

 _PS: Suicide is also a viable option. Please consider it._

If he is being honest, Regulus may have resented Voldemort a bit. Putting him on all those ambassador-ish missions where if the vampires didn't lust after him (and not only his blood, to his ever-growing horror) then the giants wanted "magic lights" or the werewolves were arguing about playing catch (That _did_ happen. In their defense, the one to propose it seemed a little...crazy, walking on all fours and panting like a dog) And he doesn't want to get to the dementors.

That was just...

No. Just no.

(Even though negociating with dark creatures was a good way to avoid murdering masses. Beggars can be choosers but Regulus is a Black. He so can be choosers)

 _Dearest Tom,_

 _My poor boy! How hard must it be to have half a soul-wait, you did it more than once? Seven is the most powerful number you say?_

 _Merlin's beard if you wanted to be separated to your soul that bad you just have to ask! Dementors always welcome a kiss. Even if you are the only one demented enough to do so. Anyway, I must leave you now, to proceed accordinly your insistence of being a soulless monster. Boy, I didn't knew a Horrocrux hunt could be so exhilarating! But then, dear Tom, you were always one brilliant little boy._

 _Yours sincerely,_

 _R.A.B_

Hell, he's even creating personalities to go with it. That one was Ronda Aurora Bigg, the kind matron of a orphanage that raised evil masterminds with a misplaced affection for his dear Tom, her second successful student- but (Plot twist!) after a few years, Tom turned independant so Ronda has to hunt him down and destroy him. ' _I swear, that boy is looking for a good beating! Not even Albus Dumb-right-doer gives me these headaches! And with Grindelwand gone, too!'_ Of course, Ronda has a soft side. She has an alarming weakness for lemon drops, whose favourite pupil -until he discovered morals, that is- shares.

(...Yeah, Dumbledore. This is for not being an impartial headmaster. Slytherin is part of Hogwarts too, remember?)

Why the hell Ronda doesn't exist in this reality? She would have solved a lot of problems.

 _Hey Tom!_

 _What's up? We seriously need to catch up, the sooner the better! It almost looks like we haven't talked since the end of Hogwarts! Anyway, how is life? Have you got over your adversion to all sex-related topics? Me? Well, life's never been better. I've met a girl, settle down- y'know? The whole thing. I even have one of those brats running around the house._

 _Anyway, I heard some things about you. Didn't believe them, of course- you know i'll always be on your side. I mean, if some serpent-alias of sorts got hold of my queer nickname and use it to do unspeakable thing I'll be mad, too. But don't worry Tom, I got your back. I don't want to brag but you know how good I am with research (We Hufflepuff are great finders) so I found this creepy inferi-infested cave and to cut it short, I have something reaaaally precious of that bastard. So, I'm going to do my thing and destroy it. Fuck that creep, right?_

 _See you soon,_

 _R.A.B_

Aaaaaand that was Reginald Arthur Berfold. Childhood Hufflepuff pest. There is always one on Hogwarts, everyone knows that. Along with the insufferable ravenclaw know-it-all (That sporadically changes into an oddball of epic proportions), the cocky idiot Gryffindor and the daddy boy Slyherin. Facts of life.

Now, to the next letter

 _To the Dark Lord,_

 _After discovering the unsettling truth about your real roots I find myself furious. How you, a result of the idiocy of excesive inbreeding and muggle mediocrity, dare to auto proclaim yourself as a Dark Lord- well, it shows that some things are hereditary, after all. On the subject of the Horrocrux, I will only ilustrate how much a utterly fool you are. Dividing one's soul multtiple times is the kind of idea a overachiever worm will fancy himself with. Why, did you think that averting death will make you more powerful, better than the rest of us? Did it ever occurs to you what the origin of magic was- at least in our phisical forms?_

 _The soul, you imbecile. How can you explain ghosts if not for the soul being the main source of magic? I pity you- truly. You had the right kind of potencial with the wrong kind of ambition. But I scorn you much strongly than that._

 _I hope the damaged, fragile, pathetic part of your soul burns in hell next to the one I've just send,_

 _R.A.B_

That was his father. On his sane days.

Damn, so much for making a death eater funny one. At any rate, he is wasting the little time he has left. What is he thinking, fooling around? He isn't his carefree brother or his careless friends. He is Regulus Black- the heir of the Most noble and Ancient House of Black, Death Eater and soon, a dead coward without enough guts to stand for his decissions. And his parents may mourn him (More the idea of him, anyway. They're too old to raise another heir) and his cousins may pity him (To oldest to youngest: despise-scorn-pity) and his brother may regret him. (Doubtful. Regulus is no brother of Sirius. That would be James, not a coward snake whose only achievement is being the perfect son with no kind of morals)

Is it wrong that he has some sort of hope that the _house-elf_ will miss him? He is selfishly wishing the suffering of another being, one that has always been kind to him, just to feel a little less lonely.

But then he is a Death Eater, isn't he? He has tortured muggles for the kicks, hasn't he? He has controlled his own housemates for the Dark lord objectives, hasn't he? He bitterly regrets all, doesn't he? As if regrets means something to all of those victims. As if a "I'm sorry, I didn't know what I was doing" is going to solve anything. No.

But if Regulus has learned to be something, is to be pragmatic. If regrets and sorrowful apologies are blantanly useless then he should keep them to himself and do something useful for once. He wants out- since the beginning where Bella- his own blood- promises were discovered as lies and supremacy was a weak excuse for all the atrocities people around him succumb to- but he wishes to redeem himself more.

He thought about being a spy, conforming a meeting with Dumbledore and passing information. However, at the end, that isn't out. That is a half-assed attempt of doing something right. Moreover, that wouldn't get him out of the Death Eaters. That wouldn't stop him for torturing innocents. That would only put him in a possition where he has to follow orders of two too powerful mages while living with the fear of being discovered. To be honest with himself, he wasn't eager to change one merciless dictator for a merciful one without even freeing himself of the first.

So he waits, he bids his time- he knows he isn't enough to bring Voldemort down by himself but he's a Black. He may not give the decisive hit, but he better give a damn good one- all while looking like the obedient unthinking boy everyone expect him to be. His opportunity comes, unexpected. Voldemort asks for a house-elf and he gives him his. He is a seeker, a little brother half-forgotten half-manipulated- he knows how to be quick to get what he wants, to be paid the smallest bit of attention. So He takes Kreacher

And how dare he try to kill Kreacher?

How dare he?

Kreacher, who practically raised him? Who is always loyal to him, keeps his secrets and dare he say it, loves him? Surely, he doesn't think himself above revenge, does he?

How foolish of him.

That Kreacher comes back with a horrifying tale was a plus, a confirmation of his theories, a destination for his plans.

(That he is trembling, half-mad, desperate for salvation and eternally grateful to be call back is heartbreaking. Regulus feels a beast awakening, deep in his chest and comforts Kreacher with soft words and repeated assurances.

The pain is not foreign to him, but it takes him by surprise as if it were. He has failed another. He won't fail again)

It was calming, in a way, easy. He finally finds a purpose for himself. Now, he just had to stop in a _muggle_ shop to find a pendant similar to it, write a little note stating 'you fucked up with the wrong person, asshole' and die. He went shopping and it was maddening. Muggles were just like mages. Intelligent, ignorant, indiferent, proud, funny, humble, human. So human it _hurts_.

Pureblod supremacy, indeed.

The note was difficult and the hilarity that is planning one's own death after discovering all you believe in was a bloody lie, well-

Has he ever lived, at all?

No, he hasn't. And now he doesn't have time to do so.

He picks up a new parchment, wets the quill in ink and begins

 _ **To the Dark Lord,**_

It was a good beginning, somewhat impersonal. His name never was Voldemort (At this point, the 'Lord' part is as laughable as its pathetic), his name is Tom Riddle- but to call him that, althought very satisfying, would be an empty gesture. 'Dear Tom', such a common greeting with that sharp irony to accompany it is not the point he wants to make. He calls him Dark, because he is, he is not longer a name or a human being he is only a Shadow, a malign ghost. The Lord is to be petty, to be clear, to respect a great mage and taunt a coward creature, his secret second meaning. Sirius would have scoffed at the complexity behing a meaningless salute and put _'To Tommykins Riddleflower.'_ just to be as obvionoxousus as possible. But then, Sirius was brave and noble and Gryffindor so he wouldn't be on his position. He would have gone to voldemort, recklessly and clearly without a plan just to defy him, duel with him as he was shouting the truth. He would die like that, fighting, like a hero. He would face him.

Not in some dark, forgotten creepy cave drowned and torned to pieces by corpses with a half-assed attemtp of defiance writen in a little, worthless note.

Why is he thinking about Sirius, anyway? It's not as he thinks about him or cares about Regulus, not anymore. (Did he really care, once upon a time? If he did, how can he forget those feelings? Why did it matter so much the house Regulus was sorted in? Why was he so dissapointed that Regulus didn't want to suffer abuse from his parents prefering to win their affections? Why the offer to come with him never came out of his lips?) But he is his brother, his blood.

The same blood he betrayed for some sort of carefree, laughting existence. The same family he dropped to be happy. Is happiness really worth all the suffering he caused? Is his happiness worth Regulus' freedom? But then, somehow, Regulus doesn't want to see the solemn Sirius. He very much prefers the one that throws his head back to laugh with ease. The one who snarks and poisons his heart with thoughtless words and casual cruelty. And yet, Sirius is worth it- he really is. Everyone thought so, that's why his betrayal disapointed so many.

But he- Well.

It won't do to dwell in those kind of thoughts now.

So Why, why does he start a new letter, for Sirius? How could he be so pathetic?

' _What do you think are you doing throwing away your life like that, Regulus?'_

 _'I'm doing what I'm supposed to do' What you should have done- he doesn't say. I didn't have a choice -He wants to scream. Don't leave me at their mercy!- He wants to- to_ beg. _Please brother, don't leave me!- He wants to add- They don't have one!_

 _'Don't feed me that crap! You are always like that, huh!? The perfect obedient son. I suppose asking you to think for yourself was asking too much. Wouldn't want to make mommy dearest mad' He storms off- he doesn't know how similar he is to their mother when he screams and rants, how palpable their fury is and how scared that leaves Regulus. Because they don't love him, not really -they want him to follow them, to agree with all they say but they don't see_ him. _They don't know him-they've never bothered enough to try._

 _'Is trying to survive that despicable to you, brother?' He mutters and is instantly ashamed of showing such weakness. Those are things reserved to thoughts, hidden behind the most ordinary things and barriers and barriers of Oclumency. How bright must the world be to his brother, where everyone has a choice that doesn't involves a quick death followed by a quick removal of the family tree if he did something too unforgivable- A real pity, he was too young. –They all would say with fake sadness and faker tears- The most unfortunate of accidents I'm afraid._

 _Yes, how bright the world must be when you don't have to hide in shadows to see the sun once more_

The answer is surprisingly easy. He was just the same weak little boy that wanted to be loved.

 _ **I know I will be dead long before you read this**_

Maybe he'll see his father in the afterlife. Hell, he might even dare to be himself in the afterlife- no masks, no secrets, no half-truths and no unwavering compliance. He should enjoy the afterlife, lose the fear of living and failing. He might even be careless, nonchalant, lackadaisical and completely brainless without fear of repercusions.

(He will even taste that elusive freedom. He will even dare to be _honest_ )

Maybe in death he'll allow himself to be Regulus, Rex, the Little King, where his wishes were above the rest and his voice is raised with an untainted opinion.

 _ **but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret.**_

It is _he_ , unremarkable little Regulus Black. The one none bothers enough with.

He discovered the secret, horrible as it was and he rebells, pathetic as he is. What a nonsensical thing to be proud of, the discovering of a monster, the stung of a betrayal, the humillation of being played. Still, what a nonsensical man he is. Planning his own death with the gusto of one who hasn't decided anything in his own life-

Oh, but he isn't being truthful, is he?

He did decided. The easy way- the way in what you believe you have no resposabilitie, when your decisions are not yours to take. He let himself be played like a puppet in hopes of endearing himself to the unfeeling family he has and loves. He ignored that little voice in his head- the one that likes to read muggle literature and had a crush on that muggleborn (Mudblood. Muggle-born is for the ones strong enough to think) on sixth year, the one that whispers that his best friend Barty is rotten to the bone and he should really invest in more friendships and less alliances- his own conscience, to be loved.

How foolish of him. Has his brother not teach him painfully enough that love is a fickle thing? The only thing more capricious is a promise.

 _ **I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can.**_

Absurd. He'll die with the hope that Kreacher will do it. How amusing it is, if he concerns himself enough with the thought, to leave the destiny of the world in the hands of a house-elf, of all beings. A humble, servicial, obsessive house-elf.

And a rather racist one, if you bother with all the nonsense of the purity of blood of his "Blackest" masters. How humiliating must be for Him, to be forced to face his mortality with all his stupid arrogance by the hands of an insignificant creature, no better than a slave.

 _ **I face death in the hope that when you met your match you will be mortal once more**_

He isn't sure he believes that -sure, he wrote it with a glaring certainty but words are easy to manipulate, they always are and beliefs are something he had never tamped with. He evaded having an opinion almost religiously for most of his life- to have an opinion is to pick a side, to pick a side is to lose someone. To pick a side is asuming a role, is to desert his morality for his cunning or his cunning for his morality. Not picking a side is unthinkable.

But he wishes it. He craves that match, that battle and that defeat - the magical world needs a purge, but not that kind. It needs to rid itself of all the idiocy and intolerance governing it.

He understands blood purity- much better than most. It was never about the magical being robbed or the tainted muggles. Blood purity equals tradition and opposes ignorance and, regretfully, change.

The truth is the world is not ever-envolving, but forever revolving. In the middle ages and much, much before- where we have only the goblin wars and belic matters to go with- the magic was regarded differently. A lot of knowledge has been forgotten. Of course then, there were the pyres. Let's juts say, burning wizards was a pretty big thing at the time. Salazar never forgave the muggles for that (Rowena was wary, Helga hopeful and Godric ready to face them if things went wrong) And how could he, facing tragedy in his own family? He didn't want to teach muggleborn because of their parents. People talk, people brag and people resent, hate, make a mob and kill. Why risking the whole school for teaching a kid that doesn't even understand magic?

The prejudice come latter- envy in some case, plain incompetence in others. Ignorance, indifference to the traditions established, difference between societies, self-absorbed notions. Changes. Marriages and compromise- to separate. To rationalize magic.

Dark magic. Light magic. Wrong. Right. Good. Bad.

Human rules that Magic does not obey. Magic is free - unique, pure. It may consent to he wishes of the wizard, it may obey those twirls and that words but the intent is where the mages come in. There is no dark magic (The unforgivables were forged in self-preservation, survival. Muggles had weapons and were rather barbaric at their attempts to torture. Hatred and vengeance it's human nature) there is no light magic (Transform a rock into a dragon and toss him into muggle London. It's tranformation, light magic, good magic. It's also a massacre) There's magic as they're mages and to know the worlds of the spell is not to utter them.

But tainted magic exists. Horrocruxes were one type of tainted magic, one of the few things that are. The Peverell brothers played with tainted magic -and quick wit may have saved the third brother, nonetheless that cloak is a deception of death. For it is death and magic cannot (Should not) touch her.

How can it, when magic is subjected to it as it is to life? Magic is all things alive- so it is born, it grows and it dies. Only death and birth are the steps between realms. One governed by time, other by souls. A Horrocrux defies both in the most horrible, mundane way- so the soul suffers and time tries to comfort her.

Enough of that. Time has runned out.

 _ **R.**_

For a life full of regrets.

 _ **A.**_

For faithless atonement

 _ **B.**_

For, above all things, Regulus is a Black.

Regulus is tired. The end is nearing and he awaits her. He has remembered things he never wanted to face, has lost all his strenght, all his qualities. He is not longer a man (He never got to be, only a foolish boy) but a shadow of what it was.

Exhausted and haunted, Regulus is a waiting corpse. He sticks to the plan and holds himself in check.

(He will not run, not now, not anymore. He won't hide either, he's too tired to do so. All that is left is the interlude. He will endure)

He's thirsty- he knows his relief will be double if he drinks form the lake. So he drinks.

Greedy hands, pale and fragile get a strong grip on him. Survival kicks in- he tries to escape.

For one moment- one hopeful, ethereal moment- he is free. The next-

He falls.

He falls in an elegant arc into the lake. When the last of him cross the surface- the grasp of death secure- the lake is instantly calm, a dark, impenetrable layer that hides his last breath and completely absorb him.

On the other side Regulus is stiff. He faces Death. Death embraces him like a gained friend.

(She smiles a secret smile that Regulus return. He has fallen and, at the lowermost, he has found himself chainless)

In the sky his star ceases to shine for the night, granting his radiance for the Little King that dare to rule his own demise.


End file.
